


Wasted Daylight

by Sourcherrymagiks



Series: Your Ex Lover is Dead [4]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Extra Feelings, M/M, Magical Bond, Masturbation in Shower, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex, Smut, Wanking is Canon, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22423528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcherrymagiks/pseuds/Sourcherrymagiks
Summary: Simon is having a hard day in England.Baz is having a hard day in France.All they really need is each other and sometimes, just sometimes, magic will find a way.OrShower wanks
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Your Ex Lover is Dead [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593220
Comments: 18
Kudos: 136





	Wasted Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> This is set pre Your Ex Lover is Dead by about two months.  
> You don’t have to have read/read that one but it probably makes more sense if you do.
> 
> Title from [Wasted Daylight by Stars](https://youtu.be/IAyIRMzhWX0)
> 
> Inspired by [The Honeyed Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff) and her wonderful shower scenes 💕💕
> 
> Also the fantastic art by [PitchPatronus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitchpatronus/pseuds/pitchpatronus)💕💕

**Baz**

I’ve been staring at the screen for at least an hour if the temperature of my neglected tea is anything to go by. Before that I was staring at the notebook. Before that I was staring into space.

It’s not the writing that’s the problem. It’s the feelings I can’t quite wrangle properly. The weather outside the apartment is grey and heavy, odd for early September, but mirroring my mood exactly. I feel grey. 

I’m a coward. I’m not only a coward but a selfish, spineless coward. It’s my sisters birthday today and I’m here nursing a cold cup of tea and sulking instead of being with her. She’ll hate how much fuss Daphne is no doubt making. She’ll pretend to be bored by all the guests. But we all know that little minx enjoys being centre of attention and she would simply die without public recognition. 

I’ll make it up to her. I’m flying her out next week to visit. I’ll ensure that she is spoiled in excess of all reason. But it won’t make up for my weakness today. My weakness for the past eight years. 

I can’t risk seeing him, hearing about him, making small talk with people who are involved in his life.

I can’t get over Simon Snow. 

Proximity will only hurt.

**Simon**

I know he won’t be here. He never is. It never stops hurting. 

I slouch over the kitchen counter and grab a cupcake. I swear little miss attitude actually hisses at me.

“Hi Dee, What does it feel like to be old and uncool?”

“Dunno Snow, you tell me.”

“Ooof, put me in my place why don’t you? Here, it’s impossible to buy for you.”

It is impossible and getting harder but I think I’ve got her this year. She rips into the wrapping paper then realises she looks too eager and rearranges her face into bored. It doesn’t last. 

“Fuck Snow, they are amazing, you utter twat”

She’s holding a pair of Doc Martins that have been hand stitched with tiny flowers gathering together into an ‘M’ on the back. They are lovely and so Mordelia, hard and soft, sweet and stubborn.

“This doesn’t get you off the hook though. You’ve been away to long with your real family. Now you still have to say ‘hi’ to everyone and stay for cake. Don’t be a coward all your life”

Daphne reappears and tsks at her, then gives me one of her hugs. The kind that make you forget that she’s not your real mum. Mordelia is still going though 

“He’s not here Snow, he won’t come back until you two sort your sorry arse selves out.”

“Thanks Dee, I dunno what I’d do without your advice.”

Daphne looks like she’s deep in thought. She’s deep in something or Mordelia would be in the shit for talking to a guest like that, even if it is just me.

“Perhaps you might like an invitation to the French Coven’s annual gala Simon? I’m sure they would love to have you”  
How am I supposed to respond to both Grimm women ganging up on me like this? I want to be childish and lash out. He could fucking come back.

I didn’t ban him from the country. 

But I broke his heart and fucked up his life so I have to take the nagging and pushing and suggestions and helpful tips.

“I’ll think about it, thank you Daphne.”

It feels like hours later when I finally escape the hand shaking and small talk. I’m so exhausted and twitchy. I’ll never get used to these parties. Grandma hates them too but she can at least hit the bar and the carbs.

Also anyone that annoys her.

She’s a fucking hurricane. She makes Penny look tame in comparison. I stay thinking about something, then....…

Then I’m in my room. Malcolm is sitting next to me patting my hand. It feels safe. I feel shit. The whole room smells of Baz. Everything in the house does. Even now. Cedar and bergamot and snide remarks.

I’m soaked with sweat, I must have been out of it for a bit when Malcolm noticed. He’s been so good at all this. I dunno what I would have done without him. He took me in when everyone else was too scared to have 'owt to do with me and stuck with me through the worst of it. I honestly think he would have kept me forever if Grandma hadn’t realised who I was that day.

I suppose they have joint custody of me now. I’m spoiled for family.

It can’t have been easy at all for Malcolm to bring me into his home, but doubly so because I’m the reason his own son isn’t here (also the reason he has to live here and not in Hampshire). I still have dark moments where I think that he looked after me to keep me away from Baz, to protect his legacy. But even I have to admit there’s too much evidence against it being a plot. How he sits up with me all night or spots when I’m phasing out or walks with me for miles. I know it’s just because he’s Malcolm. I know it’s because he’s sorry for all of this, it might be late in the day but I’ll take it. 

Grandma comes in looking worried and they both fuss for a bit but I shoo them out so I can shower before the sleep hits.

“Will you come back in a bit-so I’m not-you know-I don’t think I can.”

They both agree then look at each other and smile. I do too. 

“I’ll come back, I don’t fancy sharing a bed with both of you though so we’ll leave Malcolm to his guests.”

Grandma is giving him one of her flirtatious smiles.

“People will talk and Daphne is too fucking terrifying to duel with.”

Malcolm shakes his head in mock disapproval as they leave. 

**Baz**

The restlessness is creeping under my skin like a nettle rash. I can’t settle down but I have no energy to do anything either. 

I should definitely not follow the train of thought that leads to wanking over memories of Simon’s naked skin. I should go for a walk. I think about his curls blowing in the breeze. I think about how he looked in the too bright American sunshine. I think about all of the forbidden thoughts. 

Fuck.

I’m never going to get anything done now.Might as well give in to the inevitable. I make my way towards the bathroom, if I’m going to give in to my worst self then I’m at least going to make it worth my while. After a very brief consideration of the options I decide to go all in, nostalgic shower wank. A Watford speciality.I’m already half hard as I start to undress dreamily, caught up in how I’d want him to touch me everywhere, to rip my clothes to get there. Panting and growling like I’m all he needs in the world. 

I am still so far gone

**Simon**

Why can’t I just stop? There is something properly fucked up about wanting to wank in your ex boyfriends shower. Particularly when you can only think of him. I’ll never sleep if I don’t though.

I’d blame the smell but I lived here for two years so that’s not new. 

I could blame the memories but I’ve never been in this room with him. 

All that’s left to blame is myself. 

For loving him and wanting him and never getting either of those things right.

What if I had let him close? This close? 

Well I’d have ripped his fucking shirt off for a start. Always too many clothes. Nice clothes but still, in the way. 

I imagine dragging him into the shower, laughing into his mouth with the sheer joy of being with him. I can almost, almost feel how it would be, running my fingers over his chest, round his shoulders, down his back. Not hard, just fingertips and not even that sometimes. Enough for the water to fill the spaces in between, Almost, nearly touching.   
I run my hand down my chest and stop for a minute. I don’t do this often. I don’t know if I should do it now. But I need, I need something.

Fuck it.

I wrap my hand around my cock and sigh. 

**Baz**

I'm already arching into my hand and I’ve barely even started. It must be something about the way the spray hits me, I can feel him touching me, but not quite touching me, just warmth and promises. Stroking me apart instead of the snarling, tearing, savagery I always expected. This feels oddly right though. This fantasy Simon who wants nothing more than to learn me, watching every response of my skin. 

I imagine his hand in my hair, tugging slightly at the nape of my neck, then his mouth is on my neck, kissing and nipping and licking. I should tell him to stop, I have an interview with Revue des deux Mondes tomorrow and a hicky simply won’t do. Then I remember that it’s not real.

**Simon**

I close my eyes and all I can see is him, the steam warming him up but still so cool. I imagine running my hands through his wet hair and tipping his head back. I remember the taste of his skin, how he would whimper when I bit him, kissed him, licked him, along his throat. I can taste him now, citrus and wood and smoke and Baz. 

It’s stupid of me but I can almost feel his hands running down my back, not unsure anymore, pushing into me, dragging me closer, setting me on fire. 

From here on in I have no frame of reference. This is as far as we ever got because of me. Still I reckon I can fill in some blanks. I’m torn for a minute between rushing this a bit to release the fucking ache inside me and wanting to draw it out because, well, it’s good innit?

In my mind I’m pushed up against him, smoothing my palms over his hips then grazing his arse with the backs of my hands. My hands are cool where they meet his skin, actually cool, it makes me shiver. 

**Baz**

In my depraved state I pull ghost Simon to me, tight enough to feel how much he wants me, have him know how entirely mutual the feeling is. I never touched him this way in the real world, he would have broken or exploded. But here I can, here I can pull Simon Snow close under the water. I can hold him tight to me and he will stay, will want to stay. I swear that the skin on my hips and my arse is warming up under the touch of someone who isn’t here. 

There is something not quite right about this but I can’t think clearly enough to, I don’t want to. I just want Simon to keep sweeping his knuckles over my arse. That’s not true. That’s not enough. 

I can’t understand why it’s so different today but here we are, I’m naked and hard and wanking up a storm but none of the old fantasies are doing it. Today I see myself with lubed up fingers gently pressing against Simon’s hole, savouring his sighs and twitches, nudging further and further in, not quite fast enough for him. The sound of his desperate growls rings in my ears. 

**Simon**

I’m overloaded with my own illusion. My skin is starting to chill where I’m thinking about being pressed up against Baz, wishing I had my leg hooked around his waist.   
Baz is teasing me with his fingers and it’s driving me to distraction. I think I want him right inside me. I think I need that. It’s shocking what I don’t know about me until I’m right there. I know this now though.

I try to thrust onto his finger but his other arm is around my waist. I can’t move. I’m going to fall apart if he doesn’t

_Fuuuuccckkkk_

I groan so loud that I wonder if the staff can hear.

Fuck it. 

His finger is dragging millions of moans and shudders from me. I manage to gasp out “more” although I’m not sure to who.   
My knees buckle as the second finger slips in. I’m frantic with want, kissing and stroking and kissing Baz, trying to get more, something, more.

“I love you, now give me more” I tell the shower wall. 

**Baz**

The few minutes when I have my fingers inside this dream Simon rank as some of the best moments of my life. You can take that depressing statement however you like.   
This illusion is so developed that I can hear him groaning, punctuated by the slippery soft sounds of my fingers in his arse. My body is responding to all of these not quite touches, I’m babbling into his mouth, letting his moans echo down my throat, he loves me, he wants me, he loves me. He wants more. I want to give it to him. I want to give him everything. 

I disentangle myself (why can’t I skip this part, why do I have to make it so realistic?) and turn Simon away from me. I’m done with stroking and fondling now.   
Even though I know this isn’t happening I still hesitate for a moment. I catch myself thinking that this isn’t how I wanted the first time to go. Or maybe it is. Anyway it’s irrelevant because, well, it’s just a wank. 

**Simon**

I turn (why do I turn? What a fucking weirdo) because I want him, I need him, all of him. Shouldn’t this be more?, I dunno, it is my first time with anyone. It’s not though. I'm. I'm so confused. I’ll do the thinking later. Or maybe never. Right now I need Baz to fuck me.

It’s not the easiest position (why does it matter?) but I feel myself simultaneously melting into a slush of heat and every nerve in my body sparking. His cock against me, just inside me, is the answer to a question, the beginning of something. Also it’s un-fucking-believably hot. It’s soft and hard, smooth and wet and I want it all. I think he’s teasing rather than hesitating. Each tiny nudge makes me weak. I haven’t got a lot of patience on a good day and I’ve got a whole lot less when I’m riled up. I snap and try to roll my hips back into him but the arm around my waist tightens, holding me in place and fuck me if I don’t like that too. 

I’m barely touching myself because I barely need to. This is not a low level daydream. I can taste and feel and want and need.

**Baz**

How I don’t come the second I press the tip of my cock against him I’ll never know. I have to take it slow or this will be over in a second. Snow is such a malicious brat that he takes the first opportunity to try to set the pace. I hold him tight. It doesn’t do him good to always win (he’s not even here, why would I chose for him to be vexatious?)  
I’m at the end of my patience though. The smell of cinnamon and blood is making me hungry and needy. I need this. 

I nudge harder then cry out as I finally, finally have Simon exactly where I want him. Exactly where I need to be. Each rock of my hips is fire and softness and desperation and happiness and Simon. 

He whimpers and sighs at me, drifting into a babble of language he must have picked up on the street corners of the north. I bite his neck and whisper into his skin. 

**Simon**

How can he? How do I? I can hear him on my skin, feel him in me and on me, when he pulls out I want to cry. Then we (not we) find our rhythm and it’s all magic. Sparking and cascading through me. I’m crying and begging, pushing and pulling, gasping and sighing.

“Baz, Baz, Baz” my own voice is ringing in my ears pulled up from so deep inside me, from underneath all the fear.

My hand (his hand) is stroking my cock but it’s not the way I do it, there a twist at the end of each stroke then a grip at the bottom.This is fucking surreal and that’s a lot coming from me.

I don’t normally have an issue with the unbelievable. I don’t have much issue with this except it’s going to end too soon (any ending is too soon)

**Baz**

He responds to each thrust exactly how I’d expect him to, meeting me half way, offering a challenge, never backing down. It’s so hot.

Simon’s voice is clear in my head, my own name, over and over like a litany. I’m so arrogant that I have to be the star in my own fantasy. Or so desperate that he would want my name in his mouth. I’m so close to letting it all overwhelm me but I want to, I need to see him unravel. I want to control it. He grabs my arse when I try to pull out so I shush him gently (must be a dream, surely I’d just tell him to pack it in?) and turn him towards me and into a kiss. 

Kissing Simon is like the end of the world. He kisses like this is the last second of the universe. He kisses like it means something. 

I’m so close, my hand has barely done anything or maybe it has. I’m slightly more confused by the situation than I’d care to admit. Even as I move my hand now it doesn’t feel like mine. It’s not how I would usually do this. I don’t run my thumb around the head of my cock, I don’t grip like that. It’s so good though, so unutterable good. 

**Simon**

Kissing Baz as the water cascades down his insanely gorgeous chest is, well it’s fucking brilliant, isn’t it? 

I get that it’s not real but I’m so far past giving a shit. I need to come, I need to make this fictional Baz come. I pull back from the impossible kiss to cup his face, slipping my thumb into his mouth. 

“Now love, please?”

**Baz**

This incorporeal Simon is fucking my mouth with his rough fingers and begging me to come. What else can I do?

“Simon”

**Simon**

“Baz” 

I come hard as I shout his name.

The shuddering rippling amazingness of it is a bit rudely interrupted by the banging on the door.

That sound. 

That’s fucking hail. 

I’ve done it again. 

Fuck. 

**Baz**

I’m snapped out of my post orgasmic haze by the crash of hail against the bathroom windows. The sky has darkened another shade, I can hear the wind rattling the street below. The pavements are white with hail and still it’s falling, hurling itself at the streets with savage force.

I need to find him. 

I need him.

**Simon**

“Si, we’ve got a weather issue out here, could you please calm down? Take a breath and let your magic settle.”

Grandma is sounding a bit hysterical.

Shit. 

I should feel shame or embarrassment or guilt but I just feel like I can’t do this anymore. 

I need to find him.

I need him.

I guess I need to go to Paris. 


End file.
